Fine Lines
by SensibleNonsense
Summary: Not all men are the same, even if Maka doesn't believe it.  But from time to time, Soul and Spirit would find themselves agreeing on some things... A sometimes-funny, sometimes-serious story following the interactions between the two scythes and Maka. SxM
1. Some Rich Kid

It was the end of the first day of the week-long Shibusen Academy Entrance Evaluations, and Death Scythe Spirit Albarn wasn't terribly impressed by the crop youngsters trying out this year. Except for his Maka (a shining example of all things Good and Right in this world), there was a lack of seriousness amongst the kids. They seemed to see it all as a game—a way to impress one another and their families. He'd had to keep tackling one kid in particular, a short little snot with blue hair who kept climbing on top of things and shouting.

All in all, he was ready for a nice, relaxing evening at the Cabaret. It had been a very long day; and certainly there was no one good enough for his Maka.

There was an interesting rumor going around, however, about an Evans applying this year. It was more than a little strange that such a prodigious music family would produce a weapon after all these years.

It wasn't that such things never happened—weapons would occasionally pop up in even the most human bloodlines—but rather that the kid was being allowed to come to Shibusen at all. With a reputation like the Evans', a family who only thought highly of those with careers in the height of musical talent, you'd think they'd have beaten any weaponry out of him by now.

What was the kid's name? Something like Coal Heater. Mole Feeder?

Whatever.

Spirit stretched his arms over his head contentedly.

The brat was supposed to be some kind of genius on the piano, of course. And last time he'd stopped in to woo Medusa at the school clinic, she had described the boy as "troubled." How fruity! He'd give him a week—tops—before he went crying home to Mommy.

Luckily his Maka was like her Mama: too clever to accept anyone but the absolute best for a partner. The thought put a spring in his step as he turned the corner to the cabaret.

But wait…

Why would he ever want a kid like himself within fifty feet of Maka?

Huh.

Spirit stopped in his tracks.

This was…somewhat of a conundrum…

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I think it's quite possible Spirit (and most of Shibusen) would have heard of Soul before he even arrived or found his partner in Maka. Even in the midst of the series, you get this sense of an air of celebrity and mystery surrounding Soul and (later) his family, and it fits in my mind that this would have been started by rumors of this unexpected, strange, misfit kid before he was even enrolled.

Also, I tried to paint the public image of the Evans as something Soul would not want to be associated with and would have reason to resent, but weren't outright baby beaters…Ironic then, that I used the metaphor of "beat out", then, eh? O_o It's a metaphor! Stop looking at me like that!


	2. Worst Case Scenario

"Papa, I want you to meet my new partner. His name is Soul Eater."

"Hey, old man."

Slowly, face twitching in irritation, Spirit turned to face the impertinent little bastard.

"Wha—What did you call me?"

Soul Eater Evans was the direct culmination of all of Spirit Albarn's worst fears. To begin with, he just didn't look right. Scowling red eyes, old man hair so unkempt it resembled quite particularly the shape of an octopus perching on his head. And then there were the pointed teeth and general bad attitude. He practically had a sign pinned to him saying, "I am a Danger to the welfare of your daughter."

Spirit begged Maka to reconsider. "Please, Maka! For your Papa?"

"Stay out of my life, Papa."

In fact, as far as Maka was concerned, Spirit's intense disapproval of Soul was the final evidence that she'd chosen the right partner.

* * *

><p>I would so love to see Atsushi Okubo animate a flashback to the first time Soul and Spirit met after Maka's partnership was announced. You think those two were butting heads in the first chapterepisode? Imagine what it would have been like on their first meeting! I'm not cackling… _;;

Not my favorite chapter, which is why I'm posting number three in the same go to make up for it. :)


	3. Close Quarters

It wasn't until about two weeks later that the full reality of the situation set in.

"Papa, Soul and I are moving in together. So don't l—"

"What? No, Maka, you're not ready for this—!"

Of course she had insisted on living in her own flat since her Mama had announced that she was filing for divorce from halfway around the world. It had hurt Spirit that, like her Mama, his daughter couldn't stand to live under the same roof as him, but he'd still had the comfort of choosing the building and paying the rent; he was still her Papa after all. But this—this—!

"Papa, it's standard operating procedure for meisters and weapons. As partners, Soul and I have to do everything together: train, study, fight, live…"

The white-haired boy next to her scowled and shifted impatiently. He was looking forward to the new living arrangements just about as much as Spirit was. He was all for whatever would help him replace this fool as Death Scythe as soon as possible, but how cooking on the same stove and crapping in the same toilet as his meister was supposed to make him a stronger weapon was beyond him.

"…And it will still be the same place," Maka was plowing on relentlessly. "We'll just clean out the other room so Soul can—"

"I'm paying the rent still!" Spirit spluttered out in a half-scream once he could hear over the shrieking in his own head. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was this albino runt holding the rent money over his daughter's head for any sexual favors. After all, Spirit himself had certainly taken advantage of the customarily close weapon-meister living quarters in own his youth.

All the fuss over a place to crash was getting too much for Soul. "Look you old geezer, it's not like I'm gonna put any moves on Tiny Tits over here, so just relax."

The expression on the father and daughter's faces were disturbingly similar. But as mercy would have it, only one was hefting a book at his skull.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Feel free to call me on this one—my general impression was that Spirit has had multiple meisters (at least Maka's mom), not just Stein, but I don't whether you'd consider that all to be in his "youth." Because if not, and it was just Stein as his partner in adolescene, I just implied that Spirit made Stein pay his share of the rent in sex acts? o_o ;; I regret nothing.


	4. One Man, All Men

Whatever other opinion he had of his daughter's partner, Spirit did not expect to see Soul Eater hanging around outside the cabaret at 11 o' clock at night. Leaning against his motorcycle, arms crossed and shoulders slouched, he stares at Spirit with that punk expression of his.

"Oi, find your own cabaret, octopus head," slurs Spirit, more than a little tipsy, but still sober enough to realize that the mood isn't right.

"I came to pick up Blair, you old pervert," the boy gripes back, but he sounds grim, not as flippant as usual. For a few minutes the silence extends awkwardly.

"What are you really here for?" Spirit asks at last.

"It's a weapon's duty to protect his meister, right?"

Spirit raises an eyebrow and waits.

"Well, what am I supposed to do about the things that happened before I was here?

"You think I'm a bad influence? Look at yourself. Do you know she thinks all men are like you? You kind of fucked her over, you know. You can worry about all the ways I might try to get in her pants, but she wouldn't let any guy near her with a ten-foot pole. She analyzes everything I do. She refuses to trust me. We can't resonate right. She assumes I'm you. As a meister, she's flawed."

"How dare you call my Maka flawed! It's you who's flawed, thinking her anything less than perfect! You better not be thinking of dumping her—"

"Idiot! I'm not _you!_"

The klink of glass and laughter from the open doors of the cabaret, the thick pulse of music…The silence stretches like the unspoken question: _Who are you, then, Soul Eater Evans?_

"Is that all?"

"No. Like I said, it's a weapon's job to protect his meister. So stay the hell away." He turns away, swinging his leg over the bike.

"I love her and her Mama best, you know…" trails Spirit. His hands dangle limply at his sides.

"Whatever."

He revves the engine once, twice, and speeds away into the cold night.

About a week later, Blair mentions to Maka that she saw Soul hanging around outside the cabaret. All her suspicions about men are confirmed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Serious chapter! :O

Maka (and her father!) make some really unfair generalizations about people: one is bad; all are bad. And while I feel Maka has some justification for her issues, I must admit that I feel really sorry for poor Soul; it must be absolutely infuriating to live with Maka sometimes. He must be under a magnifying glass. Have you ever heard saying about how you can't love someone if they don't love themselves? I imagine it must be something like that. Also, I'm not sure whether or not this takes place before or after meeting Blair, because Soul and Maka's relationship/length of relationship prior to cannon is so fuzzy. But for the sake of plot, Blair is around.


	5. A Gift of Gloves

It hadn't escaped the notice of a certain Death Scythe that Maka and her weapon had started holding hands quite a lot lately. And it was really beginning to concern him.

Sure, it started out as "just" holding hands, but then it would be "just" embracing, and then it would be kissing, and pretty soon who knew what _else _you'd be holding, he thought, stuffing a pair of binoculars to his face as he peered out from behind a building the pair had just passed.

Spirit knew what else they'd be holding. Spirit knew _exactly_ what else.

The thought made him break out it sweat. "Makaaaaaaaaa…" he wept quietly to himself, focusing his binoculars in on the children's hands as they walked side by side, a mere inch from one another.

The worst part was, no one believed him. When he'd gone to Medusa for help, she'd had some kind of excuse about the practical—the "actually blatantly obvious"—need for hand-to-hand contact in battle and training. She'd gone on to say that, if or when the pair ever felt like they needed something, they could come to her on their own, and she would give them—

"CONDOMS!" Spirit had practically screamed in victory, "HAND CONDOMS!" and had run out.

He thinks he must be some kind of genius.

There's a sudden press in the crowd, and the girl and scythe are squeezed together, more than just hands touching. A scream dying in his throat, Spirit drops his binoculars and leaps into action.

"Papa, what are you doing here? You weren't following us, were you?" Maka asks, her lip curling.

"Of course not! I would never do such a despicable thing!—but here, this is for you."

"A present? What for?" She scowls down at the little white box he hands her.

"Oh, no reason," says Spirit, waving his hand dismissively. "A father should sometimes give his daughter gifts without having a reason, right?"

He's a good actor. Maka's frown isn't quite so convincing, though it's still stubbornly there.

"Gloves?" she says as she pulls a smart white glove out of the box.

"For training," Spirit explains. "You want to have the best grip when you're wielding, and this way…"

She looks up at him with something dangerously approaching a grin. "Thank you, Papa! They're perfect!"

His chest swells with pride.

His eyes meet the boy scythe's triumphantly as Maka tries on the gloves.

"What're they supposed to be, hand condoms?" Soul drawls sarcastically.

The Death Scythe's smile is demented as it spreads widely across his twitching face. "Won't be putting the moves on my little girl now, will you, Evans?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>This is exactly what happened. Don't you dare tell me otherwise.

If Atsushi Okubo ever alludes to something different, I swear, I will plunge into the sea, gripping a copy of this in my fist, and swim all the way to Japan. Then arrive like some kind of deranged sea corpse, seaweed hanging off my ears, at his apartment, and just shout things at him in English until he does what I want. You just wait. It's fail proof.

I think the only reason maka would have such a good reaction towards the gift of gloves is that they're an extremely practical gift.


	6. Thank You

Guest hours are over at the infirmary. Maka's left her father on one of Shibusen's many balconies, watching the sun's sleepy face disappear beneath the horizon. Thick gold beams fall through the windows and pool lazily on the hallway floor, disturbed only by dust motes and the Death Scythe's fine loafers that click softly as he makes his way back through the labyrinthine empty school. He comes to a stop outside the doors to the infirmary, and a hush falls, just as before the cue to raise the curtains.

He turns the knob.

"Look, Maka, about before—" Soul begins as the Death Scythe steps in. He turns his head on the pillow and, seeing the red-haired man, a pained expression settles on his face having nothing to do with the stitched-together gash across his chest. "Oh. It's you. What d'you want, old man?"

Instead of snapping a response, Spirit walks slowly over to the boy's bed to gaze down his nose at the younger scythe with a strangely blank expression. The white-haired boy meets his gaze bemusedly.

"For what you did…for Maka…thank you." He says, his voice deep and collected.

Soul raises an eyebrow. "I was just doing my job." He supposed, as a father, Spirit was supposed do things like that. But that didn't make this conversation any less uncool.

"I…suppose so. But not every weapon would do that."

Tsubaki would have done it for Black Star; Liz or Patty for Kid, too. Right? Soul shrugs, then winces. "I'm a good weapon."

"Ah…that's true."

Soul regards the old man suspiciously. Was he still dreaming? This wasn't a nightmare, but it was definitely weird enough to qualify…

"Hurry up and get better," says Spirit as he leaves the room, glaring at Soul, the steely, disapproving flint back in his eyes. The door clicks shut softly behind him.

Soul sighs and leans back into his pillow, alone once more. He doesn't like it, but he feels as if some sort of kinship has just been acknowledged between him and the older scythe. It's strange having his approval on anything.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Thank you for the last round of reviews! For the sake of my own pride, I try not to beg for reviews too much, but they really do mean a lot to me. You guys really are what keeps me inspired and writing of fanfiction instead of my own damn novel. :)

Going off the offer/suggestion of xXCanaryXx, I'm going to take ideas from you guys for the last chapter (chapter nine).


	7. Bad Timing

"It will be a great honor for Tsubaki the day she marries me," BlackStar remarks coolly as he and Soul wander the streets of Death City one hot and sticky afternoon. On their days off, they'll sometimes wander for hours, exploring every inch of the city, making it their own, not necessarily looking for trouble, but not doing much to avoid it, either.

Soul looks over at his big-talking friend, a wry smile quirking his mouth. "Are you just assuming that's going to happen?"

"Of course! Who would turn down a God?"

Whatever Soul thinks about _that_ he keeps to himself, taking his friend's ego in stride. "Isn't marriage kind of far off, anyway?"

"Yeah, but someone as great a me has to plan his 'big' life far in advance. Besides, I don't think I'll find anyone with a bigger rack."

They turn a corner lined with cheap-looking appartments. A little grocery. A record shop. An adult store.

"Hey, you're gonna marry Maka, right?"

Soul barks out a laugh. "Tiny Tits? No way."

BlackStar stops and sticks his fists on his hips, giving his friend a look of genuine bewilderment.

"You're kidding! I thought for sure you guys were together."

"Why does everyone think that? It's so uncool…" Soul grouses, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Hey, you're the one holding hands all the time."

"How the hell am I supposed to—?"

"Whatever!" crows BlackStar, loosing interest in the topic with typical speed, his voice booming up and down the street. Across the way, Spirit Albarn steps out of the Adult shop. "JUST MAKE SURE YOU NAME THE BABY AFTER ME!"

A deafening shriek of absolute horror comes from the red-haired man down the street as he charges towards the panic-stricken weapon.

"SOUL EATER EVANS, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!-"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>This chapter could have been a lot shorter, but I ended up liking the conversation between Soul and Blackstar too much to get rid of. Also, Blackstar is my secret favorite, and I wanted to slip in there my approval of the very canon BlackstarxTsubaki pairing.

Suggestions for the last chapter are still being accepted! :)


	8. Worthless

He grabs him by the collar, picks him up and slams him against the wall. The sign reading "Infirmary" shudders. "You little shit! Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you _stop it!_"

Spirit's nose is almost touching his, but the boy's expression doesn't change one tick. No snappy response. No defense.

It enrages Spirit even more.

"Why didn't you protect her?—Why didn't you do your damn _job?_" he shouts, shoving the boy further down the hall with each question, each hit.

In a flurry, the other teachers are there, pulling the Death Scythe off—calming, reproaching.

Glancing at the boy who won't meet anyone's gaze.

Reassured that the father is calmed down, they drift off, leaving the two scythes alone, together, in the hall once more.

The Death Scythe straightens his suit, his eyes hard and cold with something dangerously close to true hate. He hasn't said all he wants to, all he could. But none of it passes the iron gates his lips have formed. Except: "Worthless."

He turns on his heal and strides down the hall.

Behind him, Soul leans his head back, screwing his eyes shut, and slides down the wall to a long-limbed heap at the bottom. Through the thin walls he can hear the voices of medics, the beep of machinery. Things whirring, things buzzing, humming.

In the Black Room, the little demon chuckles. He clicks his fingers softly, beckoningly.

"Hey, Death Scythe…" Soul mutters to the man already long gone. "It's agreed, then."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>A more serious, sad chapter. :(

Also…no. I'm not going to spell out for you exactly what happened. It's kind of beside the point. And I think a certain light-handedness is one of the things that's sorely missing from fanfiction. Man your Imagination Stations! All hands on deck! All hands on deck!

Still accepting ideas/suggestions for the last couple of chapters! Send me a message, or leave a note in a review. This is the last one I had pre-written, and I'll pick the best one or two ideas to finish off at the nice (though unsymmetrical) number of ten. I'm excited to hear what you guys wanna read about, so hit me up! :)


	9. All Things Considered

Standing in Shinigami-sama's "office" with all of his daughter's friends and teachers, Spirit wonders where the time has gone.

Naturally, she's the first in her class to have gathered the ninety-nine-and-one souls, and had Spirit ever expected anything less? But to be here now, as she makes her first death scythe…it all seems to have happened so quickly.

Maka looks so smart in her new Spartoi uniform. Not quite like a young woman—(thank god)—but no longer a little girl, even with the pigtails. And still so cute. Always so cute. Spirit can't say it doesn't hurt when she runs to embrace Stein instead of himself, but it wouldn't have been so bad if Soul hadn't met eyes with him over Maka's head. That damn kid…

He eyes her partner as he accepts the final soul from Shinigami-sama. _Couldn't even be bothered to drag a comb through his hair for the occasion, or to stand straight, _Spirit thinks grumpily. _His head looks like a damn octopus. And when did he get taller than Maka?_

For his daughter to have chosen a weapon like this one, it's kind of unforgiveable. He mentions as much to Stein.

The professor scoffs at him. "You're saying this on the day he becomes a death scythe? You should know best what kind of strength it takes to get here—unless you'd like to give me all the credit. Besides, you'd have been unhappy with whoever Maka chose."

"Not if it was a _woman!_" Spirit protests. "Like that Tsubaki—she has a nice body. Why does that punk BlackStar—"

"Huh!" Stein grinds out his cigarette as the children race forward to congratulate the new death scythe. "I think we're all grateful that didn't happen. She could have done worse than that boy."

He watches as the kids swarm around the white-haired boy, pressing forward to give him slaps on the back and fist bumps. Patti throws her arms around him, and Liz musses his hair. BlackStar is there, too, shoving everyone out the way and giving his buddy a punch on the arm so hard that Soul nearly falls over. The meister seems all but forgotten in the weapon's triumph. But then the scythe grabs his partner from the midst of the crowd and pulls her to his side. He thrusts her arm into the air.

Spirit watches as his daughter laughs and blushes. Smiling, he joins the crowd's clapping.

Yeah, she could have done worse.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I wanted to show that, despite all the jokes, Spirit actually has a lot of gratitude towards Soul. I think this stems from the fact that Soul has a lot of respect for Maka…despite all of his jokes as well! XD

I'm sorry for the long hiatus! Did NaNoWriMo back in November and got out of the fanfic swing for a while...Still, I think this where I'll end this story. Short and sweet is always the best. Thank you to everyone who gave me encouragement along the way! You're all my heroes. Now go out and write something! :)


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